


Take my faith from me

by katie_b



Category: Angels & Demons (2009)
Genre: Canon Rewrite, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, People get shot, he was the most interesting character, idk man my friend and i were sad and wanted a better story for him, mckenna deserved better, one guy gets branded
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-05
Updated: 2020-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:13:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23029894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katie_b/pseuds/katie_b
Summary: What if Angels & Demons didn't have that stupid twist in the end and the most interesting character didn't turn out to be a villain
Comments: 8
Kudos: 60





	Take my faith from me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kela](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kela/gifts).



> my friend and i watched this movie and apparently we have a priest kink and wanted better for mckenna, enjoy

Death was a part of life, a way into the Kingdom of Heaven. Patrick was aware of it, and he wasn't afraid of his own death. But watching his Father wither away had made his heart clench. 

It had taken weeks. Weeks of slow progression that the added therapy couldn't stop. A part of Patrick's duties as the Camerlengo was administering the medicine, and he'd done it. But it had barely helped – Patrick had thought more than once how it apparently worsened the Pope's state. So he'd been forced to watch helplessly his Father growing weaker day after day. Then the day came when he'd grown too weak and was called to Him, the Father to all of humanity. 

Patrick McKenna weeped, allowing tears to fall freely. He'd been told more than once that he shouldn't think of Holy Father as his parent, but he couldn't help it. The man had taken him in, raised him in the spirit of christianity, and ensured that Patrick had a good life. Thinking of him as a father was the least he could do. That meant that he was now once again an orphan. Of course he had his Heavenly Father, they all did, but the thought didn't lessen the pain in his chest. 

When the time came to destroy the papal ring, Patrick composed himself. He was aware of the weight now resting on his shoulders. Until the Conclave chose the new Pope. The power of this office rested with him. He took a deep breath, channeling all his frustration and sorrow into the strikes of the hammer. Tears welled up in his eyes, and he almost let out a cry of anguish. Despite all his faith, all of Christ's teachings, he couldn't get one phrase out of his mind: 

_It wasn't fair._

***

The news of Father Silvano's death had reached him just before the video feed was sent to them. Patrick could hardly believe it; not only had Father Silvano been murdered, it had been done viciously. After the camera footage and the Illuminati's message had been delivered to them, Patrick knew this couldn't have been a coincidence. He knew that Father didn't only keep up correspondence with him, he'd mentioned it more than once. So there had to be someone else who'd also known about the research. 

He listened to Doctor Vetra's explanation with growing dread. The _preferiti_ were missing, a terrible fate threatened the Vatican and the people in it, and he couldn't do anything to help. 

Or maybe he could. 

"Have you begun the search for this explosive device?" he asked Commander Richter. 

The older man sighed. "We have, but it could be anywhere. My primary concern at the moment is the safety of the cardinals." 

"The Sistine Chapel is a fortress, Commander. As long as they're in Conclave, your security concerns are at a minimum." Not that Patrick was a fan of that, either, but the decision was out of his hands. "It's why we have to locate the device. Devote as many resources-" 

The Commander interrupted him with a scoff. "I hope you're not suggesting a naked-eye search of the entire Vatican." 

Patrick narrowed his eyes, stepping towards the man. "And I hope you remember that when you're addressing me, you are addressing this office. Do you understand?" This was hardly the first time someone in the Vatican had treated him with flippancy, but Patrick would hardly stand for it. Not now. 

Richter lowered his gaze. "Yes, Father." 

"Good." He wouldn't get an apology out of the Commander, and at the moment, he didn't really care for it. There were more pressing concerns. "Besides, I was going to suggest something else." He pointed at the screen, the antimatter on it glowing softly. "The device is illuminated by artificial light, so methodically cutting the power to different sections of the city should give us an approximation of where it's located." 

The Commander nodded silently, walking out of the room. Patrick breathed deeply, calming himself down before talking to Doctor Vetra. There could be information in Father Silvano's journals, both on how to stop the device and the particle from detonating, but also about his correspondents. 

She agreed to have them flown from Geneva, getting a relieved smile out of Patrick. Father Silvano had written often about his brilliant research partner, and Patrick found her sharp and collected mind refreshing. 

Professor Langdon was a whole other thing. As a priest, Patrick had heard of the man. How could he not? The man knew how to make waves with his discoveries, and more than one cardinal had given Patrick the side eye when he'd inquired about bringing the Professor in. Those doubts proved unfounded, at least at first glance. Langdon seemed willing to help; whether it was for the risk to his own life, his inner moral obligations, or just for the satisfaction of solving a complicated puzzle, only time would tell. 

"Before I grant you access to Vatican's archives," Patrick began, turning towards the Professor, "I want to ask you something here, in the office of His Holiness." He motioned to the quiet room. More than once, when he'd prayed here, he could have sworn he felt His presence next to him. He hadn't felt it in a while, certainly not since his Father's death. "Do you believe in God, Professor Langdon? Not what we as men say about Him, but God himself." 

Langdon stared at him for a moment, considering his words. "I believe... that I'm not meant to understand God, or perceive him." A small smile appeared on his face. "Faith is a gift, in that sense. A gift I have yet to receive." 

Patrick nodded, agreeing with the Professor more than he thought he would. Faith _was_ a gift, a most precious one. But like all gifts, it could be lost if not taken care of. 

"Be careful with our treasures," he said, returning the Professor's smile. 

***

The cardinals were walking up the stairs, a red river flowing towards the Conclave and the Church's future. McKenna followed the river's current up to the entrance to the Conclave. He approached Cardinal Strauss, who was standing to the side, observing the other cardinals. 

"Cardinal," Patrick greeted, nodding his head, "were you informed of the situation?" 

"I have," he said with a heavy sigh. "My belief is we should proceed with the sealing of the Conclave." 

"At this late hour? It would be highly unusual. And without the _preferiti_..." He drifted off, frowning. 

"It's within my authority as the Great Elector." 

A fact Patrick was aware of. "The cruelest role and the biggest honor in christendom, guiding others to what you cannot possess." 

"The cruelty of the role fades compared to the security I'll help bring to Saint Peter's Church. It's no coincidence our enemies decided to strike in our most vulnerable moment." 

Patrick nodded along, but couldn't find himself to agree completely. Yes, the possibility all of this was a coincidence was low, but the rest... "The Church won't fall in a day," he said. "We must evacuate." 

"It's exactly what they want, the Church surrendering to them, admitting a loss to science, giving the Illuminati publicity and panic they have desired for so long." 

"There would be no loss," Patrick pleaded, "this isn't a conflict with science, you must see that. The people in the Square-" 

"-Care deeply about the Church, or they wouldn't be here, as are we. Faith will prevail." 

"The faith won't help protect them, or us, from an explosion!" In the quiet hall, the words carried more than Patrick would have liked them to, and he caught several cardinals throwing glances their way. Ripples in the river, they still followed the current into the Conclave room. He clenched his jaw, turning back towards Cardinal Strauss. 

"My dear Camerlengo, aren't we all bound for Heaven sooner or later?" 

The words were a slap in every sense. Patrick had to physically stop his lips pulling into a snarl. To lessen a person's worth like that- 

"Spoken like one who lived a long and full life," he said through gritted teeth. 

He had obviously crossed a line, if Cardinal Strauss's cold gaze was anything to go by. "Patrick, don't confuse the power you temporarily hold with your true place in the Vatican and the Church. You were a favorite of His Holiness, but His Holiness is with his Father now." 

Patrick stared at a point somewhere above Cardinal's left shoulder, not trusting himself to speak. He apparently didn't need to, Cardinal Strauss following after the last few cardinals entering the room. 

Seal the doors," he ordered, turning around and walking into the Conclave, followed closely by Father Simeon. Patrick stared at them before turning his gaze to the floor and leaving to get ready. 

Short time later, the Conclave was cleared of everyone who wasn't a cardinal. Patrick shut the large door, locking it and sealing it with a chain. And if he put more force into the sealing than what was needed, no one would know. 

***

Patrick stood in his room, gazing out the window as the results of the Conclave were announced. He didn't need to hear the shouts from the disappointed faithful on the Square to know there wouldn't be a choice today, not with the _preferiti_ still potentially alive. Cardinal Strauss must have been aware of that, as well. He still insisted on sealing the Conclave, a choice Patrick honestly couldn't wrap his head around. Of course it was important to keep the faith alive in such an uncertain time, but wasn't their duty to the faithful? As a priest, he was tasked with saving people's souls. Why should their bodies be less important? If he'd been able to save his par- 

He stopped that train of thought immediately. Reminiscing on the past wouldn't help him now, it would only bring an additional layer of pain into all of this. 

He groaned in frustration, turning away from the window. The crowd was singing now, the melody echoing through the empty room. 

The clock in his room dinged eight times. Patrick closed his eyes, praying and listening to the song. 

The telephone rang shortly after, and as he went to pick it up, something in Patrick's soul was telling him his prayers had gone unanswered. 

***

Patrick stared at the letter with unfocused eyes. The piece of paper was almost laughing at him, a hysterical screech that made him want to cover his ears. "'From within your walls to squeeze the life from the Bishop of Rome'," he said, repeating one of the last lines. "They couldn't possibly be saying they're responsible for the Holy Father's death? He died from a stroke, for Go-" he cut himself off before saying Lord's name in vain, but the desire to do so remained. The letter had to be a lie, a trick. 

"The letter implies they killed him via medication," Inspector Olivetti said. Patrick froze in place, looking up. His voice came out as a broken whisper. "What?" 

"Down here." The inspector pointed at the last line. "'With man's solution we stilled his heart, with his own needle did we pierce his holy veil'." 

Patrick felt as if the ground beneath his feet was suddenly gone, and he was falling, falling into an endless pit. "Tinzaparin," he managed to say, clearing his throat before continuing. "He took an injection of it every day, but it was confidential information. No one knew, and it was prescribed by a doctor. It couldn't have been the reason." His whole body trembled, and he gripped the table to ground himself. 

"Someone apparently knew," Commander Richter said. "You, for example, and the doctor." 

Patrick glared at the old Commander. The man had a gal, he'd give him that. "I hope you're not implying what I think you are," he said slowly, staring him down. 

The Commander didn't say anything to that, but he also didn't look like he was about to apologize. Much like Cardinal Strauss earlier, Patrick didn't need or care about the apology. 

"If we're done with senseless accusations," Patrick said, glancing at Richter one last time, "it's obvious that this letter means to cause panic. It would certainly do so if it were made public. But if we act now, with our own statement, and order the evacuation-" 

"Cardinal made clear what his wishes were before the sealing of the Conclave, _camerlengo_ ," Father Simeon interjected. 

Him and Patrick had rarely seen eye to eye, but were always willing to be at least civil with each other. The situation had apparently changed. 

"Cardinal Strauss doesn't control the Vatican or its protocols," Patrick responded in a level voice, breathing deeply. 

Father Simeon was unconvinced. "Now that the Conclave has begun, it's his duty and privilege to control public announcements as the Great Elector. I've drafted a press release concerning the incident at the square-" 

"-You mean the death of Cardinal Lamasse, how dare you-" 

"-but any other statements are prohibited. The Cardinal said to remind you that we have a chimney for that." 

The desire to punch Father Simeon in the face, to get rid of his self-satisfied smirk, burned so hard in Patrick for a moment, he found himself clenching his fists. He turned around, a wave of shame flooding him because of his urges. 

"How is the search for the device going, Commander Richter?" he asked. He would confess his thoughts after all this was over; his sins were sure to stack up until the end of the evening. 

"About twenty percent of the Vatican has been checked, but nothing on the video." 

Only a fifth of the city checked, two _preferiti_ dead, and the clock was still ticking. "There won't be enough time," he murmured to himself. "How long would it take you to evacuate everyone?" 

"Thirty minutes, if I pulled back all of the men that are searching for the bomb. Which I should get back to, so if you'll excuse me." With that greeting, he left the office. 

To Patrick, the choice was clear. To save as many lives as they could, they should start evacuating immediately. The Vatican could be rebuilt, but such loss of life would tear them down. Why couldn't the rest of them see that? 

Professor Langdon, now in a priest's suit because of his blood-stained clothes, also left. He had to find the third location. Patrick couldn't stop himself from commenting the clothes suited him, and he received a tired smile in return. 

Doctor Vetra stayed, deciding to go over Father Silvano's diaries. Patrick offered to help, and she accepted. They both could use a distraction, however small, from the horrors of the evening. 

"I was in correspondence with him," he admitted to her as they settled in soft armchairs. "I'm probably going to be mentioned in there." 

"He did say he was writing to multiple people of science and faith. What did you talk about?" 

"A bit of everything, I suppose. He mentioned his research in vague terms. The most difficult part of it was bridging the science of it all with his faith." 

She sighed, putting down the journal she was holding. "We've talked about that more than once. For a while, I thought he was going to leave altogether, but he stayed. Was it because of something you told him?" 

"I'm not sure. I simply wrote..." He flipped through the notebook in his hands, hoping to find copies of his letters, but none were inside this one. "That science and faith don't need to be on the opposing sides. God gave us our bodies and souls, He gave us the ability to create such wonderful things. Horrible, too, but what you and Father Silvano were doing... it wasn't horrible, it _isn't_ horrible." 

"I feel a 'but' coming," the Doctor said with a shadow of a smile. 

"But I found it daunting," Patrick answered honestly. "Who are we to try and perceive God? To witness the creation of everything the way He did? Would that anger Him, would He strike us down like the Tower of Babel?" _Is what was going on now His way of striking us down for our hubris?_ "I wrote all of that to Father Silvano, saying in the end that I could give him honest advice, but the decision was his." 

"So he stayed." Doctor Vetra fiddled with the edge of the notebook. "He saw it as an honor, a 'way to get closer to God and to his faith'," she read from the page. Looking up at McKenna, she asked, "You don't share his opinion?" 

"I wish I did," he said, staring at the direction of the room where the video feed was, counting down to disaster. "But with everything that's happened, I can't say that I do." 

***

After they were finished flipping through Father Silvano's journals, McKenna leaving the more scientific ones to Doctor Vetra and searching for any mention of other correspondents, they fell into a heavy silence. Both of them had found very little; nothing the Doctor wasn't already familiar with, and Patrick had found references to a discussion about sacrilege, but that had been it. 

In the meanwhile, the _piazza_ opened for the worshipers, and Patrick's heart clenched at the sight of the crowd moving forward. They were possibly walking to their deaths, and none of them realized it. 

_Get away!_ He wanted to shout. _You're in danger, and the Church is refusing to acknowledge it!_ But he couldn't do that, thin strings of loyalty to the Church, to his dead Father rooting him to the spot. He hated it, hated feeling helpless and forced to watch death and destruction all around him. Was there anything he could do? 

_‘From within your walls to squeeze the life from the Bishop of Rome’_

_‘With man’s solution we stilled his heart, with his own needle did we pierce his holy veil’_

"Would there be signs?" he asked in a quiet voice, scared of the answer. 

"What?" Doctor Vetra said. 

"If the Holy Father was indeed poisoned with tinzaparin, would there be signs?" 

She straightened in her chair. "The blood would aggregate around the mouth. It would turn the tongue black and swollen." 

"And... would that be visible even now, this long after his death?" 

"The blood wouldn't start congealing until at least a week after death. It would be very much visible." 

Patrick took a deep breath, considering his possibilities. Hopefully, Professor Langdon would get to the next _preferito_ in time, maybe even find out the location of the device. Meanwhile, Patrick would help where he could, finding the truth about his father's death being one such thing. 

"He was important to me. He took me in when I had nothing left, after a bomb killed my parents. He raised me as his own, in the spirit of the Church. He was truly the best man I have ever known." His voice grew colder. "And now there is a possibility someone in this Church, the Church that should preach love and acceptance, betrayed him. And if the Illuminati managed to infiltrate the Church to such a degree... then we've already lost a war we weren't aware of." 

He stood up. "Will you come with me?" He asked Doctor Vetra. 

"Where are we going?" She put the journals away, following after him. 

"It will soon be clear." 

***

Patrick knelt in front of the tomb, bowing his head. It was cold in the crypt, his knees straining on the hard stone, but he pushed all that to the back of his mind. 

"Holy Father," he began quietly, ignoring Doctor Vetra and the guards. If he concentrated hard enough, he could almost pretend his father and him were having a normal conversation, Patrick tending to his needs. "When I was little, you told me that the voice in my head was God, and that I should follow him. And I did, for so long, but the voice is quiet now. It's quiet, and I don't know if what I'm about to do is right, but I'm asking, I'm _begging_ for your forgiveness and to give me strength." His clasped hands shook as he stood up and ordered the agents to remove the cover. 

"Camerlengo, we can't-" one of them began, but Patrick stopped him. 

"I'm aware of what I'm asking you to do, and I beg your forgiveness." Bone-deep exhaustion rolled through him, and he let out a tired breath. How long has it been since he'd had a decent rest? "The Vatican laws were put forth to protect the Church, and it is in that spirit, with the wish to protect everyone, that I order you to break those laws." 

They moved slowly, but they moved, and started to push the stone cover to the side. Patrick joined them, unwilling to just stand by when he could help, could _do_ something. The Doctor joined, too, and Patrick admired her for that gesture. 

When both the stone and the wooden cover below it were removed, the smell of rot began to spread through the room. Behind Patrick, a Swiss guard member lowered to his knees and began to pray silently. Patrick didn't have such a luxury. With tears in his eyes and a knot of anxiety in his stomach, he lifted the burial shroud. His gaze lowered to the floor the moment he noticed the blackened tongue and mouth. He felt like he was about to be sick, and not because of the smell. 

Someone had murdered his father.

***

Patrick couldn't help but feel a perverse sense of satisfaction as he cut the chain and entered the Conclave. He'd known the whole process was a mistake from the very start, putting the cardinals and the faithful in danger. Cardinal Strauss wasn't happy, immediately jumping to his feet and demanding an explanation. Chaos broke out when Patrick gave it to them, retelling his discovery in the crypts. He had to shut his eyes and resist the urge of covering his ears as the noise of the cardinals looking for answers and talking over each other reached a crescendo. 

" _Signori,_ please!" he shouted. "If I may a moment." 

Surprisingly, they listened, quieting down and looking at Patrick. He grabbed a fistful of his robes to stop his hands from shaking. This was his chance to convince them to do the right thing. 

"The Church is under attack," he began, stepping forward. "The Illuminati murdered our Holy Father in a misguided quest for retribution. They think of science and faith as two warring opposites. It is true, our past is littered with Church's attempts to slow down science, but it is not our enemy." His mind went to Father Silvano and the many letters they had exchanged. "Science rushes ahead sometimes, wondering if something _can_ be done instead of if it _should_ be done. Luckily, the Church is here to say 'Slow down, think a little, and wait'. It's not a matter of which one of us is ignorant and which one is right, everyone has their own personal way of honoring God. We are all his children, after all." His voice was strong now, echoing through the large chamber. "But what the Illuminati have done is twisted, wicked, and against everything we stand for, not just the Church, but science, too. We cannot oppose their scheming, but... we can choose a different way, one of truth and openness. Let the faithful flock know. Let, let them see us the way we truly are; a brotherhood of imperfect men willing to set their pride aside. I ask of you, _signori_ , I pray that you end this Conclave. Order the evacuation of the square, and allow the Church to survive there where it is most important; in its people. Otherwise, the Illuminati have already won."

***

Patrick paced in front of the door to the Conclave, mulling over the events. Mere thought that the Illuminati somehow infiltrated the Church made bile rise up in his throat. Though if Professor Langdon was to be believed, they had been hiding in plain sight for centuries. Why such retribution now? Why kill his Father, the most progressive Pope in years? It made no sense, and he knew zealots rarely did, but he couldn't help but doubt their involvement. Not that alternative option was any better; the only ones who knew about Holy Father's new medicine were his doctor, Patrick himself, and- 

The door opened with a low creak, and Cardinal Strauss stepped out. His face was solemn, drawn from exhaustion, but he spoke clearly. 

"My son, God answers all prayers, but sometimes His answer is no." 

_Sometimes? Only sometimes?_ Patrick barely held back a hysterical laugh. Of course they wouldn't have listened to him, a young Camerlengo who'd given his everything to the Church. What did he have to show for it? A murdered father, and being forced to watch the Church's leadership ignore a real risk to the people in the Vatican. Because they didn't want to seem weak. 

As Patrick looked on, Cardinal Strauss seemed to transform in front of his eyes. He went from a tall, imposing figure that had once helped him study history and Latin with strictness and patience to a sad, decrepit old man who wanted to hold onto whatever power and control he could. 

"We won't break the Conclave," the cardinal continued, unaware of Patrick's inner turmoil. "I suggest you direct your energy into helping the Swiss Guard locate the device, if it exists, and leave the leadership of the Church to its leaders." 

"The same leaders who are doing nothing as four of their own are killed?" He couldn't hold back, not anymore. The fatigue, the irritation, and the sadness of the last two weeks burst to the surface. "Who would rather let all those people die?" He scoffed. "I was wrong. You may be imperfect men, but you most certainly aren't willing to cast away your pride." 

"Be mindful of your place," the Cardinal warned. 

"Oh, I am, Your Excellency. My place is making sure your spitefulness and weakness doesn't doom the entire Vatican city and the people in it." He turned around, storming off towards the stairs. "Father Simeon can seal the door." 

***

Fire burned in the fireplace. Patrick gazed at it, the dancing of the flames calming him down somewhat. He shouldn't have behaved like that; it brought shame to him and the office he represented, but the inaction of the _signori_ was maddening. Their continuation of the Conclave made little sense without the _preferiti_. There was little chance of electing someone else, not with Cardinal Strauss as the Great Elector. 

_What was stopping him from stepping down as the elector and becoming a candidate?_ A small part of his mind wondered. 

He closed his eyes, still seeing the flames through his eyelids. He refused to entertain the thought. Cardinal Strauss had taken the duty of his own volition, aware what it meant for him. To think there was _his_ malicious intent behind all of this was preposterous. And yet... 

Thankfully, Father Verdi entered the room, pulling Patrick out of his dark thoughts. 

"You called for me Father?" he asked. 

"Yes." Patrick rubbed at his eyes, chasing some of the sleepiness away. "Give out an order: if by 11:15 this evening the threat isn't over, the Conclave is to be disbanded and the cardinals evacuated. Lead them out by the front entrance to the helicopters. The last impression of this Church shouldn't be old men sneaking out the back." _Not that they weren't exactly that, even if they were too ignorant to be afraid_ , he thought. 

"It will be done." 

"Great," Patrick said, some of the weight on his chest easing. "If anyone asks for me, tell them I'm praying and looking for guidance." 

"Will you lock your chamber?" 

Patrick glanced at the door, caught slightly off-guard by the question. It wasn't like he had anything to hide. He shook his head. "No, I don't think I will." 

***

Patrick was praying in front of the window, trying to lessen his anxiousness by listening to the songs outside. The crowd had grown since the _piazza_ opened again, and he tried to focus on the faith and joy in the melodies and psalms. It wasn't working, his mind swimming with possible outcomes, most of them catastrophic. 

How would the aftermath of the explosion look? According to Doctor Vetra, the small antimatter particle had enough power to completely wipe out the Vatican. Would there even be anything left of them? Would it be possible to identify the victims, or would all of them return to ashes from which they came? He shivered at the thought of the city becoming a mass grave. His mind drifted into the past, to another aftermath of a different explosion. 

_He could taste ash in his mouth, smoke stinging at his eyes. He wiped at the tears running down his face, his hand also stained with ash and blood._

_It wasn't his. His ears hurt, and he could barely hear anything, but that was all. He remembered being pushed to the ground by his dad, remembered shouting and screams as the ground shook around them. Did his mum shout his name at one point? Patrick couldn't remember that._

_Someone approached him, a tall man dressed in robes. Patrick squinted up from where he was sitting on singed grass._

_"Hello, Patrick," the man said, his voice almost lost in the ringing._

_"Hello," he said in a hoarse voice. His throat hurt, and he was thirsty. "May I have some water?"_

_"Of course." The man waved someone over, Patrick couldn't see who, and he was soon given a full bottle._

_He drank greedily, coughing after the first few sips. A hand lowered on his shoulder, and he saw the man crouch down in front of him. The man had kind eyes, but Patrick could see he had the same look on his face as dad had when he was working a lot. He frowned at the man's clothes, a black robe and a cross around his neck._

_"You're the bishop," he said quietly, and the man smiled._

_"Yes, I am, Patrick. I'm here to beg your forgiveness."_

_"Why?"_

_"This explosion was an attack on me. If I hadn't come here, none of this would have happened."_

_"It's okay. My ears ring, but I'm not hurt." He looked around at the frantic adults, too many of them speaking at once to understand what they were saying. "Where are mum and dad?" he asked._

_The man's eyes turned towards the ground. "I'm so sorry, Patrick. It's my fault. They… they were too close to the bomb."_

_"I can't see them, where are they?" Patrick stood up, his legs wobbly as he began turning around. "Mum? Dad?" Why weren't they answering? Were they hurt?_

_Suddenly, in between rushing people, he spotted his mum's bright red scarf on the grass. It would get dirty, he thought as he rushed towards it. The man was calling after him, but Patrick didn't care, he had to get mum's scarf. It was her favourite._

_He came to a stop in front of the scarf, his blue eyes widening. One end of the scarf was on the ground, but he couldn't see the other. It was hidden underneath a sheet of some kind. The sheet covered a figure, Patrick could see it was a person underneath._

_"Mum?"_

_Why did they cover her up? Was she resting? She wouldn't like sleeping on the ground. Patrick reached over, wanting to lift up the sheet to see his mum, but the man stopped him._

_"You don't want to see her like this," he said, and Patrick snatched his hand back._

_"Why is she on the ground? Where is my dad?"_

_"They're… with God now."_

_Patrick was familiar with the phrase. His nana went to God last year, and he also knew what that meant._

_They were gone._

_"No," he said in a broken whisper. His shoulders shook, and the bottle fell from his hands. "No, no, no, NO!" He was sobbing now, his legs crumbling beneath him as he fell to the ground. He clawed at the grass, tears running down his cheeks._

_He felt the man's arms around him, and he held on, sobbing into his shoulder._

_"I'm so sorry, child. So sorry," the man whispered, patting Patrick's back. "But don't worry, I'll take care of you."_

_Patrick wept on, crying until he exhausted himself, refusing to let go of the man's robes. And as he opened his swollen eyes, he could see the man's necklace, the golden cross glinting in the sunlight. It was almost hypnotizing, Patrick relaxing as the man picked him up and carried over to the ambulance car. The sight of the glittering gold stayed in his mind as he was checked over. He was trembling all over, missing the warmth of the man's robes and the calming necklace._

_He felt like he wasn't ever going to be warm again._

Patrick quickly wiped his eyes as he heard a knock on the door. _I should've locked it_ , he thought as the door opened and Commander Richter strode in. 

"Commander, how may I help you?" Patrick asked, standing up. 

"On whose authority did you order the evacuation?" he demanded. 

Patrick glanced around the room with a sigh. "On the authority of this office, Commander, which I hold, as I've told you already today." 

"You think this will fly? You using this to push your agenda?" He put his hands on his hips, close to where his weapon holster was. On any other occasion, this wouldn't worry Patrick, but this day was turning out to be extraordinary in the worst sense. 

His eyes went to his desk for the briefest moment. There was a gun hidden in the bottom drawer; Patrick had put it there after a series of particularly explicit threats had made it to the Vatican. One could never be too careful, and he'd never been more grateful for the weapon than in this moment. 

"You were the only one close enough to His Holiness to poison him, and I bet you were jumping with glee after you gave the order to evacuate." 

Patrick whipped his head around. "What?" How could Richter even think that? Patrick had been in the Vatican longer than him, for God's sake! "I wasn't the only one, and even if I was, I would never have poisoned the Holy Father! Commander, you must see reason." 

"Oh, I see perfectly." 

Commander's eyes were focused on him, and Patrick didn't dare move closer to the desk. 

"I see someone who encouraged the blasphemy of creating the God particle-" he said, his lips pulling into a snarl at the particle's name, "-and someone who is now holding the power of the papal office." He pulled out his gun. "Those two things don't go well together." 

Patrick was too shocked and terrified to even think of sending a prayer up to Heaven. The door opened at that moment, distracting the Commander, and Patrick moved closer to the desk. 

Father Simeon entered, his hands clasped behind his back, and Patrick almost breathed a sigh of relief. But then he noticed his smile. 

"Father," Commander greeted. 

"You've caught the Illuminatus red-handed, Commander. Well done." 

Patrick's eyes widened. "Illuminatus? Have you gone mad, Father?" 

"The only one mad here is you, _camerlengo_." Simeon walked over to the fireplace, and Patrick saw he was holding something in his hands. He placed the object near the fireplace before turning around. 

"You see," he started, "the Church has forgotten its roots, its mission. We've become lost in the darkness, and need to be illuminated in His light once again." 

Patrick could barely believe what he was hearing. It couldn't be true, there was no chance that these two men were behind today's horrors? 

"And now, we have the opportunity. All we need is a common cause, and a sacrificial lamb. You will do perfectly in both roles." He stepped closer, standing next to the Commander. "It's a great honor. You will do for us what Son of God did. You will light our path to God's grace, Illuminatus." 

Would he get to the gun in time? Patrick weighed his options, but it was decided for him when Commander Richter pulled out his weapon. Father Simeon motioned for him to come forward, and Patrick followed, his mind numb. He watched as Simeon bent down and picked up a brand from the fireplace, and he knew this was the end for him. He was going to end up branded like cattle, like the poor Illuminati all those years ago. He closed his eyes as Simeon stepped towards him, preparing himself for the searing pain. 

Again, his mind couldn't think of a prayer. 

But no pain came. There was the sound of flesh sizzling, and a burning smell spread through the room. Patrick opened his eyes, stumbling back as he saw Father Simeon kneeling on the floor, the brand red and sharp on his chest. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Commander Richter lift his gun, and Patrick turned, running towards the desk. 

There was a shot, and flaming pain shot through Patrick's side.He fell to the ground, gasping, as people rushed into the room. 

"He's one of them!" The Commander shouted. "He attacked Father Simeon!" 

"No, no, it's a lie," Patrick said weakly, but he doubted anyone heard him in the commotion. The scene was eerily familiar, chaos and fear like it had been at the bombing site all those years ago. Patrick squeezed his eyes closed, praying to whoever was listening for his pain to go away. 

There was a hand on his shoulder, and Patrick half-expected his Father to be there when he opened his eyes. 

"Please, tell us where the device is," Doctor Vetra said. "You don't want all those people to die, I know you don't." 

"I'm not... I don't _know._ " 

From across the room, Professor Langdon called for the Doctor. "The papal symbol on his chest," he said, pointing to Father Simeon. "It's upside down." 

A beat of silence, a moment for Langdon's mind to piece it all together. 

"I know where we have to go." 

***

Commander Richter dragged Patrick along as the two of them, Doctor Vetra, and Langdon rushed to Saint Peter's tomb, deep below the Vatican. Patrick barely held his moans of pain as he lowered through the open manhole to the lowest levels. The Commander was probably going to kill him, the Doctor, and the Professor, and Father Simeon must have already shared the story of Patrick McKenna, the unstable _camerlengo_ turned Illuminatus who destroyed the Vatican. 

"You'll show us where you hid it, you dirty traitor," Commander Richter said as he opened the security door. 

Patrick didn't even bother responding to the taunt, his mind too tired to think properly. He needed medical attention, needed to get away from here, far away- 

"There it is." Doctor Vetra lifted stained sheets off the ground, and down there, lit by a simple lamp, was the antimatter. 

Patrick stared at the device. In person, the particle inside it seemed almost alive; it shivered and shook as Doctor Vetra started working on the containment unit. Next to him , Richter lowered his gun, his expression greedy and focused on the particle. 

Minutes passed in tense silence, and then the Doctor suddenly froze. "We're too late," she whispered. "There's less than five minutes of battery, I can't change it, it's... it's too late." She sat on the floor, staring in disbelief. 

Less than five minutes left to save the Vatican, to save all of the innocents out in the square. It was a simple choice for Patrick; he was probably dying tonight, anyway. 

He turned quickly, elbowing Commander in the face as hard as he could and prying the gun away from him. 

"Give me the device," he said to the Doctor, not taking his eyes off of Richter. "We don't have time, give it to me!" 

It was Langdon who put the device in his hand. _He isn't Catholic, but he sure is a believer._ Patrick fired the gun, shooting Commander in the leg. He threw the weapon away, running back to the square as fast as he could, ignoring the pain in his side or the blood he could feel soaking his clothes. 

Less than five minutes. How much of that time had already passed? He shook his head. The evacuation helicopter out in the square. That was the only thing he needed to focus on. 

Rushing out the church door was like stepping into hell, another scene of chaos and panic threatening to pull Patrick back into the past. The cardinals noticed him, moving out of his way as he stomped towards the helicopter. He ignored them all, even Cardinal Strauss who was about to bord the helicopter. 

"I'll go," he said to the pilot, feverishly clutching the bomb against his chest. "The risk is mine." 

The pilot nodded, stepping down and helping Patrick up. He settled in the pilot seat, meeting Strauss's cold eyes for a moment before lifting off. He swore he could still hear the crowd below, even with the helicopter blades spinning, lifting him higher and higher. Up into the clouds he went, into a storm that had been brewing over the city for weeks. 

As the Vatican faded from view, hidden by the clouds, Patrick let out a breath of relief. _The people were going to survive_. 

For an impossibly long moment, he considered not leaving the helicopter. He could stay, give his life for the Church as he'd done ever since the day his parents had died. He would possibly be lauded, an Illuminatus who'd seen the error of his ways and had decided to sacrifice himself to save everyone. 

The thought was serene. 

Then he remembered Father Simeon's smile as the man had threatened him, the sheer terror of having Commander Richter's gun pressed against his back, the rotting smell of his Father's dead body- 

There was no serenity here, or in the city below him. 

With a groan, Patrick pushed himself out of the chair, stumbling towards the back of the helicopter where he knew the parachutes were. He put one on, almost falling over at the pain in his side.He lingered at the edge, wind whipping at his hair and robes. One final indulgent thought: _I could stay_. 

Then he jumped, falling through the clouds. A blinding flash behind him, then came a blast wave, and Patrick tumbled through the sky towards the ground. 

***

Everything hurt. Patrick tried to scream out in pain, but even opening his mouth was too much for him in this state. Was this hell? Did he die and was now being punished for his lack of faith in his final moments? 

Things started coming back into focus, and Patrick looked up. The sight above him took his breath away. He'd barely admired it for a second before he was slammed by the sounds of screaming, shouting, but also... singing? 

He blinked, realizing he was lying on the ground and that people were crowding around him. No, he didn't want that, they were going to imprison him, pronounce him a traitor. 

Someone crouched next to him, and Patrick could have cried in relief at seeing Professor Langdon's face. 

"Hey, hey don't try to move," the man said. "Doctor Vetra will take care of you, don't worry." 

She crouched next to Langdon, checking over Patrick. 

He was still in too much pain to try and move, or even talk, but he managed a nod. 

"It's going to be okay," Langdon said. "We found something interesting, and we know you're innocent." 

"You saved everyone, Patrick," Doctor Vetra said. "Thank you." 

As he drifted off again, he thought that this was the first time anyone had thanked him since his father's death. 

***

The first thing Patrick was aware of when he came to was the soft bed he was lying on. He took a deep breath, allowing himself to indulge in it. Then the aches hit him. From his head, to his ankle, practically everything hurt. He felt the numb, pulsing pain of the gunshot wound in his side, and the soreness around his ribs probably meant he'd bruised them. His head felt heavy as he turned, noticing the beeping of machines. 

He was in a hospital. Glancing at his hands, he let out a sigh of relief when he didn't see anything cuffing him to the bed. Apparently whatever Doctor Vetra and Professor Langdon had found _was_ interesting. 

As if on cue, the door opened and the two of them walked in, carrying coffee cups. 

"You're awake," Doctor Vetra said with a smile, sitting in one of the plastic chairs next to the bed. "You had us worried for a bit, Father." 

"Patrick is fine," he said, not liking the way his stomach clenched at his title. "What happened? How long have I been unconscious?" 

"Two days," Langdon said, leaning on the other chair. "The blast from the explosion threw you all over the place, but you survived it." 

"And the... the rest?" 

Two of them shared a look. 

"After you ran off with the device, I took care of Commander Richter's wound. I used that opportunity to get the key to his desk." She took a sip of her coffee. "He took Silvano's journals from where I had hidden them. Luckily, they were in his office, along with a couple of pages he'd torn out. All of them had correspondence with the same person." 

Patrick wasn't surprised at who that person was. 

"Cardinal Strauss never mentioned it to me," he said to himself. 

"Nor did Silvano to me. I guess he didn't find the Cardinal's advice as useful as yours." 

Patrick stared at the ceiling, letting the information settle in. There was no shock or disgust this time, just bone-deep weariness. 

"We also found empty bottles of tinzaparin. The doctor confessed he'd been giving the Holy Father higher doses." 

"And he was doing it while I was in the room. I was supposed to watch over him." A sob shook his body, the pain of it grounding Patrick. He'd failed to protect his father, blind to the men plotting to kill him and succeeding in it. 

"We figured something was off when you weren't the one branded with the papal symbol," Langdon said. "It didn't fit with the Illuminati's plan, not unless their plan was to frame you." 

"It was never the Illuminati, Professor," Patrick responded. "It was about bringing the Catholic Church back on its rightful path, or a perversion of one." He closed his eyes, trying to will the tears away. 

"Father Simeon did scream something about that as they took him away," Doctor Vetra said. "It all started going wrong for them when the last _preferito_ survived." 

Patrick tuned her voice out. He didn't need the explanation, didn't want it. The urge to get away, far away, returned. At some point the two of them left, but Patrick didn't even notice, lost in his thoughts. 

***

Even a week after the explosion, the sky still shone with the remains of the antimatter. Patrick leaned against the window in his hospital room, his arms crossed against his chest. Tomorrow was the coronation of Pope Luke, the only _preferito_ who'd survived Cardinal Strauss's disgusting ploy. Patrick was also being released from the hospital tomorrow, and after one last visit to the papal chambers, he would leave the Vatican. He still didn't know where he would go. 

When he'd written to Father Silvano, he'd referred to his research as a potentially dangerous thing, a sign that humanity went too far. But now, gazing at the swirling blues and yellows shifting across the clear night sky, all he could think about was how beautiful it all looked. It was so easy to imagine this is how the universe had looked in the moment of creation, and so easy to imagine God's presence and warmth among the glowing antimatter remains. 

By all accounts, Patrick's faith should be strengthened. So why did he stuff his priest robes and clerical collar at the bottom of his bag, without any plans of putting them on? Why did the sounds of singing on the Square, heard even outside the Vatican in Rome Memorial Hospital, suddenly grate on his ears? 

_Because it reminds me of this now_ , he thought. The same way he couldn't think of his father without imagining his dead, rotten body, the sight of his clerical collar and the melodies reminded him of all the rotting that had happened inside the Church. He leaned his forehead against the cool glass, breathing deeply. His ribs were still sore, but nothing he couldn't handle. 

When he was young, he thought he could hear God's voice. That voice had helped him through life, had led him to people and places without which he couldn't have done what he did. The voice was quiet now, had been for a long time. He couldn't hear it echoing the way the songs did, couldn't feel His presence in the celestial swirls illuminating the sky above Rome and the Vatican. Maybe the new Pope would change things and bring that voice back, but Patrick was too tired to wait. 

The next day, as he put on his clothes, he left his bag behind, the robes and the collar still safely folded away. 

***

For perhaps the first time in his life, Patrick felt out of place in the papal chambers. He stood at the doorway, hands tucked in his pockets. In front of him Professor Langdon and Doctor Vetra talked to the new _camerlengo,_ but Patrick focused on the new Pope. He'd also recovered nicely from nearly drowning. As he reached for the papal ring, Patrick's heart ached for his father. It seemed like a lifetime had passed since he'd destroyed his ring, and so much had changed since then. 

He noticed Professor Langdon looking at him. 

"I'm sorry, did you say something?" He asked, offering an apologetic smile. 

"I couldn't help but notice your new... attire." 

Patrick glanced down at his simple black shirt and jeans. "These past few weeks made me see things differently. And as you wisely put it, faith is a gift. I think I have lost mine somewhere along the way, or at least my faith in the Church." Saying the words out loud was like lifting a weight off his shoulders. Looking at the Pope again, Patrick was happy to find hope blooming in his chest. "Maybe I'll find it someday." 

"You wouldn't be the first. The Bible is filled with people doubting themselves and God." 

"Yeah, I know. In most cases, God spoke to them, both to berate and reassure them. I doubt that will happen this time." 

Pope Luke stepped out on the balcony, and the noise outside filled the room. Patrick closed his eyes, a small smile appearing on his face. 

"I guess you just gotta believe it will," Langdon offered. 

"Perhaps after a while. When the Church heals."

**Author's Note:**

> kudos and comments are welcome, if you want more ewan mcgregor and garbage in general i have a [tumblr](https://bibia-be-ye-ye-ye.tumblr.com/) come say hi


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